


Yellow and Purple

by kiri_bronach



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Cecil Has A Third Eye, Cecil Has Tentacles, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mirrors, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strexcorp is Evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiri_bronach/pseuds/kiri_bronach
Summary: Cecil confronts the effects Strexcorp's creulty had on his body, and discovers the ones it had on his mind.Set post episode 49.





	Yellow and Purple

A few days after the battle, Cecil gets up the courage to look in the mirror. Staring back at him is a pathetically broken and battered man with a cake of dried blood in one of ears - probably from the sound torture at the picnic - and pain evident in his hollowed features. It has been months since he looked in a mirror and the face is almost unrecognizable. It makes him feel sad and a little shaky and he rushes out of the bathroom without petting Khoshekh. The cat’s indignant shrieks follow him down the hallway. 

He is back at his recording booth before he realizes he forgot to dry his hands. He wipes them quickly on his pants before entering the small room, which has by now been cleaned of the blood and gore and returned to its comforting familiarity.

 

When he gets home that night, he stops in the bathroom to investigate his reflection more closely. He avoids looking at his face at first. 

His arms are covered in bruises overlaid with a delicate criss-cross of cuts. Some are old scars, so old he’s surprised he can see them over the bruises. Others are new and raw, so red he wonders if they are bleeding. He knows that under his shirt his torso looks much the same, but he doesn’t feel like looking at the moment. His tentacles droop listlessly, almost done regenerating but not quite revived. Several smooth, even lines stand out on his neck where they’ve been etched into his skin. They’re his Strexcorp Employee Identification - his barcode once Lauren’s euphemisms have been peeled away. He can’t quite remember when he got them. After parade day, most likely... but who knows? Who cares? This time he cleans the blood out of his ear when he sees it, wetting a cotton ball and dabbing at the rust colored stain until it dissolves away.

Finally, he meets his reflections gaze. Three brown eyes stare back at him. Usually vibrant with life, they are now dulled from months of constant pain. They are also ringed with dark, puffy circles, evidence of the nightmares that keep him awake. A smear of red surrounds the cut on his cheek and he vaguely remembers rubbing the scab off of it. His cheek and collar bones jut outwards under his skin. The rationing system of the picnic had made food difficult to come by, especially for Cecil who was weak from beating after beating, and wasn’t trained to do any of the work that needed doing anyway. He tries to ignore the thoughts that tell him he would have starved to death if he hadn’t escaped.

His eyes drift next to his hair. It is not nearly as perfect as Carlos’s, but it is golden blond and fluffy and he used to think it was one of his more attractive features. Used to. Now, it appears a menacing yellow. “Work hard and believe in a Smiling God,” it seems to say. “Be a good employee, Cecil. Obey Strex, Cecil,” it seems to taunt him. But he knows that that’s ridiculous. Hair does not speak, not even in Night Vale. The words are nothing more than memory, played back in the same hauntingly cheerful tone that first said them. The thought of Lauren’s voice on his name makes Cecil shudder almost as much as the thought of her whip on his back. Almost, but not quite.

Cecil tries to look away from his hair, but the yellow of it seems to take up the entire mirror. He shakes his head, hoping to clear the horrid memories. Instead, he watches in what feels like slow motion as the tips of his hair brush against the barcode.

Cecil might not be able to remember when he got the barcode, but now he remembers with perfect clarity what Lauren said when she gave it to him. “You belong to Strex now, Cecil.” It must have been after the parade, then, because Cecil knows that Strex’s ownership of Night Vale, and all of the people in it, was a topic of… “conversation” in the agonizing days following his failed rebellion. The yellow hue of his hair is now blindingly bright. Somewhere in his mind, Lauren’s voice repeats “you belong to Strex,” over and over and over. Cecil’s heart begins to beat fast, fast, faster. He can’t breathe. Is? He? Breathing?

Yes.

For now.

Cecil pushes hard on the bathroom counter. He whirls desperately, finally breaking his eyes away from the image in the mirror. He stumbles out one door, out another, outside. He passes his car, not trusting himself to drive, and half runs up the road to the Ralph’s where he buys a package of purple hair dye.


End file.
